


Axis

by anr



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-12
Updated: 2005-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How about she rescues *him* from imminent death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Axis

**Author's Note:**

> SONGOGRAPHY: Tonight And The Rest Of My Life by Nina Gordon  
> FOR: mylittleredgirl  
> BETA: lyssie

_And the sky might catch on fire_   
_And burn the axis of the world_

  


* * *

  


The last thing he remembers is running. Running and shooting and an explosion so large, so loud, so _blinding_ that his vision whites out and the earth rocks beneath his feet. He staggers, almost falls, and is suddenly grateful for the hand on his arm, white knuckles fisting jacket fabric, that rights him and drags him on.

" _Come on_!" she screams, lips against his ear in an effort to be heard.

He blinks, head spinning, thigh aching. He thinks he may have been shot back there.

"Stargate!" he manages, as the ground undulates again. "We have to get to the..."

The sky shatters.

  


* * *

  


He wakes to a sunless horizon, oil-grey clouds scudding heavily over crescent moons. The ground is damp and uncomfortable, sticks and stones pressing into his shoulder blades and butt, and on his chest is his sidearm. Funny how he doesn't remember leaving that there.

"John..."

His head tilts at that barely-a-whisper voice and finds her cross-legged beside him, his P90 cradled in her lap. Her eyes meet his briefly and then dart away in a move he remembers well from moonlit watches of his own.

"Where are we?" he whispers, or tries to. His voice seems broken and she pulls a canteen out of thin air, placing it at his lips. He wonders when she became a mind-reader.

"You collapsed," she says as he drinks, gaze still flitting back and forth. "I had to carry you."

She makes it sound so matter-of-fact, so run-of-the-mill ordinary. Like carrying him across rough terrain and under enemy fire is the same as wielding a palm pilot and signing a trade treaty. He coughs a little and she pulls the canteen away, recapping it one-handed before flinching, suddenly, as a _snap_ echoes somewhere nearby. Quicker then he ever would have imagined, the P90 rises and her left hand finds the sidearm on his chest. _So that's why..._

Carefully he brings up his arm and slides the weapon from her grip. She lets him take it but keeps her palm on his chest, fingers splayed across his heart.

Long, dark minutes as they stare into the shadows. He can hear something owl-like hooting, and a soft scrabbling sound. When it fades, she lowers her weapon and he follows suit. He wants to ask her how she knew to keep watch in the first place (he only ever taught her guns, one late night before the Wraith first started coming, when they were tired and cranky and not even the brush of her hair against his cheek could stop him from bitching until she got it right) but doesn't.

"Where are we?" he asks again instead.

"I don't think your injuries are severe. A concussion, maybe, from that stun blast--some cuts and bruises from the jumper debris."

He remembers limping a little, and thinking he'd been shot, and moves his hand to his thigh, wincing as he probes the tender area. She's right, though--no wound or blood, just the promise of Picasso-coloured flesh come morning.

"I'm about the same, minus the threat of concussion."

Which is, without a doubt, the best news he's heard so far but: "Elizabeth," his hand moves up to covers hers where it rests still on his chest, " _where are we_?"

Slowly, too slowly, her head bows. He tells himself the sheen of moisture glimpsed briefly in her eyes is a trick of the fickle moonlight; the break in her voice due to a lack of water and nothing more.

"I'm sorry."

  


* * *

  


In the hour before dawn they make their way to the Stargate and dial Atlantis but the chevrons fail to lock and there's no horizontal waterfall for them to ride home. She starts to shake again, like she did when he finally managed to sit up last night.

"I'm sorry," she says, not for the first time. "I panicked. I wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He studies the DHD and tries to work out where they could possibly be; wants to say 'it's ok', but can't bring himself to lie.

She saved his life last night. Saved it even as she watched McKay and Teyla and Ford dive through the Stargate, Wraith darts following before the wormhole could disengage. Saved him from the fate of Bates and Jenkins and Birghoff, culled as they ran, by dragging his unconscious ass to the DHD and blindly redialling.

They could have ended up in space, orbiting a forest moon, or on a planet with an unbreathable atmosphere, or in the middle of war zone. The risk she (unknowingly) took when she misdialled... he doesn't want to think about it.

Doesn't want to think about her having to find them shelter in the woods surrounding this Stargate, or having to guard over him while he lay unresponsive at her feet, either.

Or about what has happened to their city, and their Stargate, and the people they're responsible for.

(He was responsible for her too and he _really_ doesn't want to think about how he's fucked that one up.)

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Pushes those thoughts from his mind. Retallies their supplies (her pack, two radios, two sidearms and a P90, limited ammunition) and makes a decision.

"Come on," he says, turning away from the Stargate. He readjusts his grip on the P90 and takes her hand. The contact seems to calm her (stops the shaking at least) and her fingers thread with his.

"Where are we going?"

Nine times out of ten, the presence of a Stargate means civilisation. People. Help. They need food, and water, clothes... something for his headache... some weapons too, if the race they find is advanced enough. He figures she can sweet-talk the natives while he works out a way for them to get back to Atlantis (maybe the kids simply forgot to unlock the front door when they all got up this morning?) and then?

"Home."

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/180568.html>


End file.
